


The Rescue

by nightwing1511



Series: Earth-1511 [1]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 03:11:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2253639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwing1511/pseuds/nightwing1511
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Black Widow has been captured and her partner, the lovable rogue Hawkeye, hastens to her rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of a sporadic series of Marvel superhero stories I plan to do. It's set in a continuity filled with my own head-canons, which is heavily influenced by A:EMH, the MCU, and any of the animated series from the 90's.  
> Hope you enjoy :)

I heard footsteps first.

I stopped and planted my feet, right hand reaching for the familiar touch of fletchings. My glove-less fingers played the bowstring as I quickly drew and released three arrows. They strike their targets and three men fall in succession as they round the corner, MP5s skittering away.

I took a moment to appreciate my handiwork, and smiled to myself.

I guessed that her cell was only a few rooms away, and relief washed over me. Once I sprung her, the escape would be easier; I wouldn't have to do all the work.

I approached the door to the south end of the long, stark corridor. The door looks hefty. The sort I'd have to seal off an armoury or prison. An EMP burst from the device built into by bow put the cameras out of commission. At almost the same instant, a flash took me by surprise. The door shifted open with a grinding screech.

'Nat?' Her red her was tousled and tangled, her face bloodied and bruised, but it was definitely Natasha.

'Hey, Clint. Decided to come help did you?'

'How did you-'

'I'm not a sexy lamp, Clint. I can look after myself. Got my gear?'

I handed her the gun-belt I had draped over my shoulder. She threw it around her waist and buckled it with practiced precision.

'So how did you…' I looked at the smoking door .  
'Thermite paste.' She said it like it was the most normal thing in the world, and I figured it was best not to question it further. Instead, I nocked an arrow and started back down the long, metallic hallway. I heard a familiar pattern of metallic clicks and slides. Without looking, I knew Nat had checked and loaded her subcompact Glock 26 pistols. I upped my pace to a gentle jog, holding the bow low, but ready to fire quickly. Someone must have noticed Natasha's thermite; an alarm was sounding, the screaming of a klaxon echoed around the small facility. A door ahead opened and I fired at the first man through. As he went down, a small grenade, flash-bang from the look of it, bounced into view. Nat was quick on the trigger, and tagged it with three quick shots. I turned my head and shut my eyes, only moments quick enough. The crack still made my ears ring and my head pound.

If it affected her, she didn't show it. Natasha sprinted past me, dove into a roll and came up under the nearest guard with a brutal strike to the jaw. The others, dazed by their own grenade, she dismantled with swift efficiency, pushing them back into the room they'd come from.

I couldn't focus on her movements through the pounding of my own pulse in my ears. Luckily, I looked away in time to see another squad entering our corridor a few yards further down. Still trying to catch her up, I let an explosive arrow fly. It caught the point-man's SMG. The gun turned to shrapnel, shredding his uniform, whilst the explosion knocked him on his ass. His comrades delivered a spray of fire, and I ducked for cover in Nat's doorway. With her threats neutralised, she was stripping back a radio from one of their belts. The room was a guard-post of some sort, surveillance computers and weapon racks lined the walls.

'You've got them, right?' She flashed a cheeky grin, and set an earpiece to her ear, and what was left of the transmitted to her belt. 'I don't think there are many more here.'

A storm of bullets belting the doorway behind me stopped for a second, and I took my cue. I launched into the corridor, firing a smoke arrow mid-dive. I rolled and came to my feet with a fresh broad-head drawn. I knew the smoke wouldn't affect them, but the hesitation as they checked their masks gave me a few extra seconds. A flurry of arrows hummed through the air, each finding the sweet spot below their Kevlar, right near the armpit. Five men dropped before they could touch their triggers, but the last one managed to squeeze off a few rounds.

My luck ran out; I felt the slug smash into my lower leg. It missed the bone, and passed right through the meat of my calf, best I could tell. No lasting damage.

Damn it hurt though.

'This is some rescue.'

'Perhaps you'd like it better back in your cell?' I smiled through the pain at my own witty movie reference, and Nat poked her tongue out petulantly.

'Can you walk?' she asked. My leg was bleeding heavily. I tore strops from by sleeve and dressed it roughly.

'Should be okay. I'll be a bit slow.'

'You mean more than usual?'

She was a hard person to know. Never seemed to take anything seriously. She offered me a hand and hauled me to my feet. We'd been partners for years now, but I wasn't sure I really knew Natasha Romanov. She slipped under my arm, and I put my weight on her as we jogged slowly down the hall towards the exit. Sure, we'd been intimate, after particularly stressful missions, but I was almost certain she was just blowing off steam. Two guards ran into out path and met with hollow-point slugs to the chest for their trouble. The door to the airfield was, surprisingly, wide open.

'Almost there, Clint. Stay with me.' She'd noticed I was fading. I'd lost a lot of blood.

Even if I had feelings for her, they'd be moot. She was guarded, hidden behind walls of cynicism, sarcasm and cheek. The thudding drone of a Black Hawk met us as we passed into the moonlight. A dozen or so Russian guards lay dead, scattered about the tarmac.

'Found the rest of them.' I quipped, but she mightn't have heard.

The engines roared, but the helicopter sat grounded, a side door open. A man in a long, black trench coat waved us aboard.  
'Friends of yours?' It hurt to talk.

'Nope.' She didn't look worried. The man had a stern face, partially obscured by an eye patch, but he was clearly here to help.  
Nat hauled me onto the deck, and stepped aboard. The man made a gesture to the pilot, who took off immediately.

'Barton and Romanov?'

'Who's asking?'

He offered her his hand, and she shook it confidently.

'Welcome to SHIELD.'

And I passed out.


End file.
